Easter Morning Rain

Easter Morning Rain

   Whispers in a foreign language
   cascade over drought-brown turf
   and the fogged terrain of dream.

   First shadowy clouds and droplets
   tiptoe through sleep, then arising,
   the glossy black drumbeat of boots.

   Sleeves of rain, capes of rain, heels
   and swishing skirts of rain dance a
   tarantella on roofs and skylights.

   Teresa, sifting Avila's dry sand,
      knew
   rain as grace: after lugging buckets
   to the garden, showers come as
      gift.

   Mantilla of green Laces the earth,
   floating filmy in washed morning
   light.
   Thunder of maracas stirs the
   tomb-grey sleep.

--Kathy Coffey

Denver

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